


Drunken Ficlet: Unconventional

by greywash



Series: Drunken!ficlets [22]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-04
Updated: 2012-05-04
Packaged: 2017-11-04 19:25:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/397337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greywash/pseuds/greywash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Drunken!ficlet, archived from Tumblr. Unbeta'ed and un-Britpicked, as always.</em>
</p>
<p>￼<strong>roane72 requested</strong>: Mummy Holmes drops by Baker Street for a surprise visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drunken Ficlet: Unconventional

John hears A Problem before he sees it, a cacophonous burst of violin screeching, followed by Mycroft's lazy, superior drawl, too low to make out the words. John sighs and drops his chin down to his chest, then gathers himself, and heads up the last eight steps into the flat.

He ducks, so the teacup smashes somewhere behind him.

"Sherlock!" Mycroft snaps. "You're behaving like a child."

John doesn't even bother to get involved, just heads into the kitchen. There's an extremely elegantly dressed, white-haired woman with lush, time-softened curves sitting at the kitchen table, cradling a heavy tumbler of something so strong it makes John's eyes water from the doorway.

"Hello," John says, a little caught off his guard. He's certain that isn't their tumbler.

"Hello," she says. "You must be John. Drink?"

"I," he says, but she's already filling a second tumbler, and really, where did those even _come_ from?

"I'm Hortencia," she says, sliding the tumbler across the table. "Don't mind them, they'll sort it out eventually, it only very rarely comes to blows."

John pauses, then narrows his eyes: she's quite tall, and very, very pale, but there the resemblance ends. "Mrs. Holmes?" he guesses.

"Oh, please, none of that," she says. "Hortencia will do, I've always disliked being reminded of the alliteration. I wish I'd been born fifteen years later, never would've changed my name in the first place."

There's a crash in the living room, and John is roused from his frozen state in the doorway.

"Right," he says. "Sorry, I—sorry." He holds out his hand, shakes hers before sitting. "It's very nice to meet you, so sorry about the mess, I—"

"No, no," she says, and sighs. "I did raise him, I do know what he's like."

"Yes, well," John says, and she looks at him sideways, mouth curving up just on the right, and says, "Rather endearing, isn't he?"

John swallows, then reaches out and takes a gulp of his— _dear God_. "That's—um. Potent."

"Home brew," she says. "Drink up, drink up. Mycroft discussed it in the car on the way over, you know; I get you first for baby pictures and embarrassing stories and then he gets you for the threats and intimidation."

"We're not," John begins, and then stops, because she's looking at him with a _very_ familiar bug-under-glass expression, and that is—very alarming.

"Aren't you?" she asks, like she's genuinely curious about his answer.

"Not in—not in any conventional way," John corrects, and she snorts.

"John, darling," she says, and tops up his glass. "When has either of you ever settled for conventional?"


End file.
